Swat Kats: A Christmas Feral
by VVhiplash
Summary: A sentiment of anti-cheer befalls the Dark SK Universe's oh-so-jovial Commander Feral, as an old classic takes on a demented twist.
1. Holidays Don't Bite

Swat Kats: A Christmas Feral  
  
From Whiplash Productions  
  
Copyright Jazz: Swat Kats and any related trademarks are copyright Hanna- Barbera, not yours truly. The innocent story that this fic is modeled after is obviously Charles Dickens' book, so stop confusing my timeless pieces of literature with his, people, it's getting rather annoying.  
  
*Author's Notation: Yeah, so instead of leaving the holiday alone, like I should've, I decided I just had to churn out this seasonal coal-worthy story that's just asking to be shot down on sight. The setting is in the Dark Swat Kats universe, hence the only way I could rationally explain Feral's odd/flipped behavior, and the madness just sort of goes from there. Happy Holidays everyone!  
  
--------------------------Christmas Eve, the Dark SK Universe . . .  
  
"Ho hum. Hum ho. I just adore Christmas!" Commander Feral chimed, sprucing up his office with various decorations.  
  
Steele sat in the corner, that usual smug, rotten smirk on his face.  
  
"Oh boss," He sneered, "Can I have the next two weeks off? It is Christmas, ya' know?"  
  
Feral considered for a moment then grinned happily at the Lt. "Well, sure! I don't see why not! Just work here for, say, ten more minutes and then you can have the next two weeks off." He replied cheerily.  
  
"Score!" Steele hooted, doing a little dance.  
  
There came a sudden knock on the door, and a less than amused Felina opened her uncle's door.  
  
"Uncle? You here?" She asked, a dullness to her voice.  
  
"Up here, Felicia!" Feral hummed, stringing up the ribbon.  
  
"It's Felina," She said flatly.  
  
"That's what I said, wasn't it? Ah well, what is it that you'd like?" Feral questioned.  
  
Felina sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a list. She glanced over them boringly and then looked up at the commander.  
  
"I'm having a party tonight, since it's Christmas Eve and all, and I was wondering if you'd care to join." She said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Sure!" Feral replied giddily.  
  
"There'll be booze," Felina added.  
  
"Fine!"  
  
"We're ordering adult channels,"  
  
"Great!"  
  
"We'll probably commit a few crimes in our drunken state,"  
  
"Sounds fun!"  
  
Felina twitched involuntarily, her hands clenching the list of wrongdoings that she'd cooked up just to see his response.  
  
"I don't get you, Uncle!" She finally exploded, "How can you always be so accepting! Can't you ever say 'no' to anyone?"  
  
At that very moment, Chance and Jake ambled into the room, dressed as Christmas trees and carrying bells and a donation tin cup. Upon entering, they began croaking out Christmas carols. The room was dead silent when they finished, all eyes fixed on them.  
  
"Ahem, yeah, well, uh, we're the Singing Evergreens, and we're here collecting money for oursel-er, the greedy -I mean!- the needy. So, ah, donate!" Chance spoke up, holding out the tin.  
  
"Oh! Collecting for the poor! I just love this part!" Feral chirped, sliding down his ladder and coming up to the two trees, wads of cash in his paw.  
  
"Uncle, would you donate a little something for me too . . ." Felina asked.  
  
"Okay, Fana," Feral nodded, bringing out yet another wad of cash to put in the over-flowing tin cup.  
  
"It's Felina,"  
  
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"  
  
"My ten minutes are up! Whoohoo!! See ya' around, suckers!" Steele sneered, shutting all his books and high tailing it out of there.  
  
"Wow! How wonderful it is to see a kat so possessed by the holiday spirit!" Feral cooed.  
  
"Possessed, yes. By a holiday spirit, I think not." Jake murmured.  
  
"Right on! Thanks a lot, Sa-ap . . . S' 'appy, New Year! Eh heh . . ." Chance grinned.  
  
"Don't mention it, boys. And say, about that little accident we had a while back, it was completely my fault. You boys don't have to pay a dime of the damages, and I'd like you to come back and be Enforcers with us!" Feral stated, smiling.  
  
The two mechanics just looked at each other.  
  
"Uh, we'll have to think about it . . ." Chance finally spoke, barely able to contain his snickers.  
  
"Y-yeah, affirmative," Jake put in, backing out the door before a small snort could escape him.  
  
"All right, you do that then. Goodbye!" Feral waved, as the two giggly kats jolted out the door.  
  
"Argh! That's exactly what I'm talking about, Uncle!" Felina growled in frustration, "You're just too nice!"  
  
"Bah, ho hum!" Was Feral's only reply, continuing with his decorating.  
  
--------------------------Later that night . . .  
  
Feral was sitting comfortably in his living room, a warm glass of milk by his side, staring dreamily at the fireplace. He'd just returned from the office, after giving everyone an extra special Christmas bonus, and making a quick detour on his way home to read the Christmas story at a nearby orphanage. Yes, Feral was very much content as he nestled in his recliner, drowsily watching the flames crackle. Suddenly, a ghostly incarnation swirled to life in the fireplace. It was the face of a kat, well groomed, and shiny to boot.  
  
"Feeerrraaaallll . . . .Feeeerrrraaaallll . . ."  
  
Feral's drowsiness left him, as he looked around for the haunting voice. He was shivering from head to toe, and he grabbed his glass of milk threateningly.  
  
"Wh . . .Who's th-there! I'm warning you! I have a glass of milk!" He stammered, twisting around in his overstuffed chair.  
  
The face in the fireplace melted away, and soon after the creak of floorboards could be heard. Closer, closer still they squeaked, as all Feral could see beyond the firelight was darkness. Fearing the creaking would soon be upon him, Feral lashed out with his warm glass of milk, sending it spewing into the darkness. To his horror, the milk caught onto an invisible presence in the room, creating a white, dripping form of a kat not two meters from where he was.  
  
"AAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEYYYYYYAAAAA!!!" Feral screamed, leaping out of his chair and flying to his room.  
  
"YEOUCH!! It burns! It burns!" The figure screeched, trying to wipe the steaming milk from its invisible form.  
  
In his room, Feral locked his door, took out his shotgun, put on his commando hat, and held a position under the covers of his bed. Once again, he heard the definite sound of footsteps approach his door. As they drew nearer and finally stopped just outside his door, Feral swallowed hard and mustered the courage to make a bold challenge.  
  
"I'm with the Enforcers! They'll handle this!" He barked.  
  
"Oh come now, Ulysses, not that old line," A frail, cynical voice emanated from behind him.  
  
Giving a shriek, Feral twirled around and let loose a barrage of gunfire until he realized the only thing behind him was his dresser; the emphasis of that statement being, *was*. Gasping for air, the big kat's hands shook uncontrollably, and when he turned back around, he dropped his gun all together.  
  
There, in the middle of his room, stood a glowing manifest of a kat, well aged, and a harp fastened in his hands. Feral was dumbstruck, for he knew whom the kat was.  
  
"O'Malley! My old squad car partner! You were the nicest guy to ever wear an Enforcer uniform! B-But, your dead!" Feral stuttered, his jaw open.  
  
"That's right, lad, I'm dead and gone now. And what has my niceties done fer me now, eh? Nothin'! Absolutely nothin'!" O'Malley barked.  
  
"What?" Feral asked, dumbfounded, "But that's not true! You inspired me to be the nice guy I am today!"  
  
"Bah!" O'Malley retorted, "Nice guys always finish last, Feral my boy! Why, when I died, me own kids sold my estate and used the money to gamble away their nine lives."  
  
" . . .But that's what you wanted them to do. It was in your will!" Feral charged.  
  
"Only cause me wife changed it!" O'Malley said gruffly.  
  
"Your comrades! They all came to your funeral to pay their respects!" Feral countered.  
  
"Respect!? To whom? Me, or my sister's homemade doughnuts that were in the reception area?" O'Malley grumbled.  
  
"Those were really good, come to think of it," Feral mused.  
  
"The reason I'm here, Feral, is to show you what a waste it is to try and be nice to people. Just look at me!" O'Malley stated.  
  
"O'Malley, you look wonderful! You've got your golden harp there, probably some wings or something, and you can do that nifty invisibility thing!" Feral said merrily.  
  
"Oh sure, it looks good now, but think about the long run! I have to listen to that boring, if not annoying, harp music for eternity! Not only that, everyone is just so peachy and nice to everyone else up there, it's driving me bananas!" O'Malley bellowed.  
  
"That's not a very good thing to say about, up there," Feral whispered, pointing up.  
  
"Well, I figured I'd come down here and try to straighten you out before you get too nice for your own good, anyway." O'Malley retorted, "You'll be visited by three spirits tonight, Ulysses. They're, ah, all I could find on such short notice, so be patient with 'em, alright?"  
  
And with nary a poof, O'Malley disappeared. Feral scratched his head in puzzlement. Was he really too nice? He shook his head bemusedly and gave a simple smile.  
  
"Bah, ho hum!"  
  
Turning out his light, Feral then retired back into his sheets, his shotgun beside him and his commando hat still on. He nestled into the covers, and stuck his thumb contently into his mouth and dreamed of Christmas morning. The clock on the wall ticked away, in the meantime, and at midnight, it blared to life.  
  
"Wake up, mortal!" An annoying voice screeched into Feral's ear.  
  
Startled, the big kat fell out of bed and landed on something small and bony. Muffled curses and incantations could be heard from under Feral's bulk, and the big kat struggled to get up and see what menace had awakened him from his sleep. Lo and behold, there plastered to the floorboards was the small red form of the Pastmaster!  
  
"Kats alive! The Pastmaster! . . . Are you alright? You look a little flushed?"  
  
The Pastmaster growled, but it soon turned into twisted sobbing.  
  
"I'm the Immortal Sorcerer of Christmas Past!" He cried, tears forming puddles around him, "And you dislocated my hip!"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Feral said very apologetic, "Here, let me put you on my back."  
  
"No! Don't touch me!" The Pastmaster screamed like a kitten, as Feral reached down and hoisted him onto his back.  
  
"See? Much better," Feral beamed.  
  
"Infernal mortals with their stupid height . . ." The Pastmaster grumbled, getting a little woozy from being so high up on Feral's back.  
  
"So, um, what are you doing here again?" Feral questioned.  
  
"Silence! I must concentrate or both of us will disintegrate during the transport." The Pastmaster snarled.  
  
"Oh, my bad." Feral hushed, folding his hands together.  
  
Moments later, after the Pastmaster babbled out some strange incantation that Feral didn't bother trying to follow, a vortex appeared and the Pastmaster beckoned the big kat to go in.  
  
"C'mon already! I've done this millions of times." The Pastmaster fumed.  
  
"Sure there isn't any sort of harmful side-effects?" Feral questioned, eyeing the spiraling cloud cautiously.  
  
"Just look at me, you dolt! I'm perfectly fine, now aren't I?" The Pastmaster shrieked.  
  
Feral didn't say a word, just bit his lip. Taking a deep breath, holding his nose, and shutting his eyes, Feral leaped into the vortex.  
  
"Open your eyes you nit-wit! We're here!" The Pastmaster's scraggly voice shouted in Feral's ear.  
  
Peeping one eye open and then the other, Feral released his grip of his nose and looked around in bewilderment. The scene he saw before him was a quaint country setting, with snow powdered over trees and buildings, just a real homey setting all around. Feral scratched his head.  
  
"Um, you did say you were the something-something of Christmas Past, right?" He questioned unsurely, still looking around.  
  
"Yeah, I'm stuck with this gig until I can pay off this big fat guy in a red suit. Infernal weasel took me for all my money last week." The Pastmaster grumbled, "Never should've tried to bluff with only a pair of twos."  
  
"Erm, well then, where are we? I didn't grow up here, in the countryside. Heck, I've never been outside of Megakat City before, there's just so many nice kats in it!" Feral chirped.  
  
"What?!" The Pastmaster screeched, nearly re-dislocating his hip, "By the tome of time, can't this foolish author get anything right! Back in the pretty vortex, o' fleshy one!"  
  
Once again another vortex appeared, and Feral was prodded into it by a shrieking Pastmaster. This time around, the setting took a drastic turn. They were in Megakat City all right, and it looked to be wintertime here as well. The neighborhood was obviously not the best, and snow covered the alleyways as small pieces of trash blew through the air. A newspaper smacked into Feral's face, but he peeled it off and gasped at the date.  
  
"Incredible!" He gasped, "Why this . . . this was the year . . ."  
  
"Quite your senseless ramblings idiot, and let's find whichever one of these punks is you!" The Pastmaster growled, searching the desolate streets, "Hey, does that shack look familiar?"  
  
Feral looked towards the said building and was immediately drawn to it. He stood outside it, astounded, touching it to see if it was real.  
  
"By George!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"It's Fuzzy Shin-Dig's Pad!" Feral proclaimed, stepping back to look at the flashing neon sign, "Good ol' Shin-Dig . . . Hey, can we go in? I think I hear Disco Duck coming on!"  
  
The Pastmaster groaned, but snapped his fingers nonetheless, and the two found themselves amidst some grooving kats showing some funk on the dance floor. They all seemed to be laughing, directing their mirth towards a particular fellow unsuccessfully attempting to dance. Feral peered around, looking for the object of everyone's attention.  
  
"Why, it's me, spirit!" Feral proclaimed, pointing himself out.  
  
The Pastmaster peered around the smoky, flashing-light encased area, until his eyes fell onto the young Ulysses Feral. His scowl deepened.  
  
"Good grief, mortal! What sort of foul bird had nested itself on your skull?!" He exclaimed.  
  
"Silly spirit, that's my prize-winning afro!" Feral chuckled merrily, "My niece doesn't believe this, but I actually hid my unicycle inside it once. Ah, good times . . . good times . . ."  
  
"You imbecile! That's nothing to be proud of!" The Pastmaster commented, flailing, "Just look at you! You're a joke! Everyone's making fun of you!"  
  
At that instant, the young Ulysses changed into his extra tall pumps, which he pulled out from his humongous hair, and slipped them on. He towered above the entire dance floor, as he started getting into the groove. Unfortunately, his noggin bobbed a little to close to the lowering disco ball, and he was knocked out, tumbling to the floor as someone cried out "Timber!"  
  
"What? No," Feral dismissed, "They were always just a happy group like this. Why, every time I was with them in the room, they'd always be laughing, those jolly kats! Haha!"  
  
The Pastmaster fumed, grabbing hold of Feral's head. "You incessant idiot! Just listen to what these so-called 'friends' of yours are so mirthful about!"  
  
The duo suddenly zoomed in on a clique of kats situated at a table. They were chatting back and forth constantly, but Feral still managed to pick up on the subject of their conversation.  
  
"Yeah, he's such a freak! What primordial bird nested on his head, anyway? Kats, a-live, I heard he keeps his *unicycle* in it! I mean, that is so way too big."  
  
"I know, Skip! And those outrageous shoes! I mean, yah, I so totally own a pair, but since seeing *him* wearing them, I'm going to have to burn them now!"  
  
"Teehee! But come on now, everyone, he did give us all his major credit cards after we agreed to let him buy us a cherry coke! Still, we'll ditch him once we get him to hand over the keys to his car."  
  
The cruel group burst out in laughter and went on with their merriment as Feral slowly turned away.  
  
"Ha ha! You see!" The Pastmaster rubbed in, "All they ever did was use you for their own means! And very well, I might add. Hmm, yes, very well indeed . . . I could use some more blood suckers at the lair come to think of it."  
  
"I . . ." Feral started, his back still turned, "I never did see that car again . . .Oh spirit! I don't wish to see anymore! Send me back to my bedchamber, so that I may stew and reflect on this instance. I only hope my self-help videos will be able to pull me out of this emotional pitfall in time for Christmas."  
  
"Fine! Have it your way, you merry menace!" The Pastmaster growled, holding up his watch, "But heed what you've seen here! Your friends despised you, your horrendous hair-do betrayed you, and disco was ultimately your downfall! . . .Oh, and being a nice push-over doesn't help either. Yadda- yadda."  
  
Feral turned around. What met him was a bedpost, and his teeth gnashed together from his skull impacting with it. Nothing, though, could compare with the pain of his fond memories distorted to show that hurtful perspective he'd just witnessed. Still, Feral felt a need to be nice, as he sat down on his mattress, rubbing his jaw.  
  
"Bah, ho hum."  
  
--------------------------  
  
To be slaved over until it's finished . . . 


	2. But Rabid Reindeer On The Other Hand

Swat Kats: A Christmas Feral  
  
From Whiplash Productions  
  
Copyright Jazz: Swat Kats and any related trademarks are copyright Hanna- Barbera, not yours truly. The innocent story that this fic is modeled after is obviously Charles Dickens' book, so stop confusing my timeless pieces of literature with his, people, it's getting rather annoying.  
  
*Author's Notation: Mmm, gingerbread fiction, nice and long, with a pinch of senseless madness, just like grandma use to make. Sorry if the silliness/madness/craziness wanes towards the end, but I just wanted to get this done sometime this year. Still hope your holidays were cheerier than this, folks!  
  
--------------------------  
  
The clock had just tolled one o'clock, and Feral was snuggled up with his shotgun underneath the sheets, deep in contemplation. That midget of Christmas Past had revealed some disturbing images of his youth, and he wasn't so sure it'd be something he'd be able to get over right away. He awaited the arrival of the next spirit anxiously, because, surely, things were different now.  
  
A sudden, noisy thud was perceived in the room, and Feral almost fell out of bed again due to it startling him so. Sitting up quickly, still clutching his shotgun, the commander looked around for whoever was visiting him now.  
  
"Oh . . .oh my," A seemingly helium induced voice stated.  
  
Feral peered about the dark room, and his gaze soon met with a strange, pale package done up in ribbons and bows. Two large oval eyes blinked above it, suspended by some property of cartoon physics. The box slowly turned to face Feral.  
  
"Hello," It said.  
  
" . . . Hello," Feral replied slowly, "Are . . . Are you the Ghost of Christmas Present?"  
  
"Yes," The package answered, a bit relieved, "Yes, I am the Ghost of a Christmas Present."  
  
Feral blinked a moment. "Um, don't you mean the Ghost *of* Christmas Present?"  
  
And now it was the package's turn to blink a few times. "No . . . I mean what I said. I, uh, am the Ghost of a Christmas Present."  
  
"Oh,"  
  
"Yep, that's me."  
  
The two sort of gazed at the floor in perpetual silence. Feral scratched his chin. The ghostly Christmas present blinked a few more times, looking around at the kat's room.  
  
"Were you . . .expecting someone else?" It finally spoke.  
  
"Well, I'm not really that sure. For all I know, everything tonight could just be some sort of ingestion problem . . . you could be the result of an undigested portion of beef, a sliver of bread, a crumb of cheese, watching too many Christmas specials on cable television . . . something weird like that." Feral replied.  
  
"Ah, could be," The present said, "Well, since I'm apparently here anyway it seems, is . . . there anything I can do for you?"  
  
Feral rubbed his neck, a bit uncomfortably. "Well, I was kind of expecting to get a tour of the present, here and now stuff. So, I don't know, I guess we could go philandering around the city for a while, Ghost of a Christmas Present. That is, if, you don't mind."  
  
The present seemed to shrug. How it managed to do this is rather questionable.  
  
"Sure. I don't really have anything else to do," It replied, "Just hold on to my gift tag, and I'll Fed Ex us somewhere."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Feral let his shotgun rest on his bed, as he once again climbed out and held onto the ghost's small, fluttering gift tag. In an instant, they were floating above the skyline of Megakat City, admiring the cold, clear night.  
  
"Wow, who knew this is what Brown could do for me," Feral admired, whizzing with the package through building tops and chimneys.  
  
Soon, they were in a residential portion of the city and the ghostly box set them down in front of a house. From the outside, it could be seen that all the lights in the house were turned on, and it's shuddering could be attributed to the blaring music that came from within.  
  
"Why, this is my niece's house!" Feral exclaimed, fumbling up to the window, "Kats alive, I forgot all about the party! Yeesh, but it still seems to be going strong."  
  
"I'll say," The small voice of the package chirped, "How about we get a closer look?"  
  
Feral nodded, curious himself. Entering the disaster zone that was Felina Feral's house, the two carefully picked their way over unconscious bodies and empty cans and kegs of milk scattered about the floor. Feral huffed, appalled that he'd forgotten and missed out on all this fun. Amidst the howling and incomprehensible talking of the masses of kats still awake, a notable cluster sat hooting and hollering in front of the fireplace. Among them was Felina herself.  
  
"Felice!" Ulysses exclaimed, happy to see his niece.  
  
The present looked up at him blankly. " . . . Navidad? . . ."  
  
"Hey all, let's play a game!" Someone in the group shouted. The suggestion was greeted with cheers of approval.  
  
"That's a great idea, pardner!" Felina piped up, standing, a little unsteadily, from the rest of the group, "We'll play this new game the author just made up called, 'Guess Which Central Protagonist Character I Am'!"  
  
Ulysses sighed. "Dang! . . . that's always my favorite."  
  
"Okay, okay," Felina started, hushing the crowd, "I'm big and tall, have a chin that'd put Jay Leno to shame, and I'm too darn nice for my own good so everyone takes advantage of me and calls me Wuss in Boots behind my back!"  
  
Shouts and clamoring of answers flooded the room just then, as Ulysses stood with his mouth agape. He just couldn't believe it.  
  
"I just don't believe it," He stated quietly, " . . . I'm . . . actually quite stumped on this one! This usually never happens! I always know which protagonist character is being described! Can't wait to hear who this poor fellow is."  
  
The Ghost of a Christmas Present just sat there, blinking.  
  
"Alright, alright, ya' milk guzzlers, you've all guessed right!" Felina laughed, waving to quiet the masses, "The central protagonist I'm talking about is, of course, my uncle, Ulysses Feral."  
  
Ulysses wasn't sure if someone had just shot him through the heart, or if it was just a boom of laughter radiating throughout the room. He looked at Felina, as if looking at some cold, scathing stranger, incapable of believing what he'd just heard. A small mist threatened to glaze his glassy eyes, as he looked down at the pale package who'd brought him here.  
  
"So, ah . . .where to next?" It stated.  
  
Feral dumbly took hold of the small ghostly gift tag once again, muttering the only other name he could think of, and soon they were reunited with the night sky. Feral was at a loss of words, and the Ghost of a Christmas Present didn't really talk much to begin with. One thing did escape Feral's lips though.  
  
"I . . . I can't believe she thinks I have a big chin."  
  
"Yeah, comparing you to Jay Leno was harsh," The package sympathized, landing them on the balcony of an apartment complex, "Gotta' admit though, Wuss in Boots, that's kind of funny."  
  
"Yes, that is rather clever, I agree. The whole principle of it though is what bothers me." Feral related, looking around at the building they were now at.  
  
"Oh, uh, you muttered something about 'my coworker whom I practically think of as a son, Steele, surely doesn't take advantage of my overwhelmingly nice nature,' so I brought us here next." The package explained.  
  
"Ah yes! Poor Steele, his father giving him a free ride into the Enforcers, his mother suing practically anyone who's come in contact with him, and his unfortunate brother with . . . with . . . oh spirit, I can't bare to say!" Feral explained, looking into the lavish apartment.  
  
The Ghost of a Christmas Present looked around the apartment himself, seeing Steele and someone else with a crutch coming into the room. The kat leaned on Steele as the two hobbled into the apartment room. Their faces were full of jollity, and it warmed Feral's heart so, to see the two brothers happy despite the odds.  
  
"What a sap!" Were the first words out of the brother's mouth, as he tossed the crutch onto the sofa, and stood perfectly on both legs, "I still can't believe he lets you off for two straight weeks! I gotta' pull this 'lame leg' crap just to get off for Christmas!"  
  
"I know, I know, and you realize of course, he still thinks you're my brother," Steele sneered, kicking back in his overstuffed chair, "Yup, I got that shmuck right where I want him. I say the word, and he gives me a raise. I say another word, and he's cleaning my desk and Elvis Katsley records for me. And if he falters or says he's too busy, I just let the tears fall and start talking about my poor little brother. It doesn't take many licks to get to the chewy center of that Feral sucker, let me tell you!"  
  
The Ghost of a Christmas Present wasn't sure, but the bulging eyes and wide- open mouth seemed familiar to the reaction from just moments prior at Felina's residence. Which ultimately meant, this Feral guy was about to break down. As Steele and his cohort cackled on into the night, the package slipped it's gift tag inside Feral's limp hand and flew him back to his bedroom. Then, bidding him adieu, the Ghost of a Christmas Present left him, hoping it hadn't done something wrong by showing him all this that night.  
  
--------------------------London, about the same time . . .  
  
"I don't understand, spirit!" An old kat exclaimed, "Everyone's being so nice to everyone else, and I'm deeply moved by my friends and families dedication to me even after I've been such . . .such a humbug to them! So why are you trying to convince me to be meaner?"  
  
"I've sssssaid it onssssce, and I'll ssssssay it again, Feral, you're too nissssce!" A voice hissed, dragging the old kat back into his bedchamber, "You need to teach thossssse wusssssiesssss a lesssson!"  
  
"Confound it, kat! Do stop calling me this 'Feral' person! I've told you, my name's Ebe-"  
  
"Ah sssssshut up! Or elsssse I'll put in a bad word for you with the ssssspirit of Chrisssstmas Yet To Come-And-Kick-Your-Tail!"  
  
--------------------------Back in the real Feral's Bedchamber . . .  
  
A swirling white mist began to manifest itself eerily in Feral's bedroom. He clutched tighter at his bed sheets, gulping, as he awaited the spirit of which he feared the most. Out of the shadows, a cloaked figure emerged, looming next to Feral's bedside. Teeth chattering, the commander shakily offered the hooded thing a cookie off a plate he had by his bedside. The figure raised its hand slowly, took the plate, and stuffed it inside the cloak for later.  
  
"Y-Y-You're the s-s-spirit of Ch-Christmas's yet t-to c-come, correct?" Feral whimpered, slowly getting out of his bed.  
  
The hooded figure only stood there. It raised its arm once again and the bedroom suddenly changed. Now, they were in his office, or at least, what appeared to be it at first glance. Feral looked around at the strange upholstery and interior decoration of his once distinguished office. Now . . . now it was some sort of . . .  
  
"Felina, baby, all you ever do is work, work, work!" A leery voice whined, entering the room.  
  
Feral turned around, stunned at what he saw. It was Steele, shrunken and wrinkled, sporting some dazzling teeth that were too perfect to be real, and wearing all sorts of jewelry and a comfortable cashmere robe. His diamond-topped cane partially supported him, as his arm was wrapped around a very worn, perturbed looking she-kat holding a stack of files.  
  
"Well *someone's* got to work around here, Steele! Ever since you got your slimy little hands around half of the city council's throats, you've been running a charade with this department! Kats, this place is nothing like it use to be when he was here." Felina sighed, dropping her workload onto the zebra-striped desk adorned with Commander Steele's nameplate.  
  
"Okay, toots, so maybe crime was a little less rampant back in the day, but face it! Have Enforcers *ever* looked this good before? Uh huh!" Steele laughed, his oversized teeth clicking together when he did so.  
  
"What . . . what are they talking about? When was my office refurbished like this? Oh spirit, what in kat's name is going on here?" Feral rattled off, both scared and confused at what he was seeing.  
  
The hooded figure only stood there silently. Again, their setting changed, this time they appeared in the mayor's office. But like his own, the interior was drastically different. It was dark, all the shades pulled over the windows, and eerie purple lights set off a mild glow around the office. The door suddenly opened and Feral's grateful eyes rested upon the silhouette of what had to be Deputy Mayor Briggs.  
  
"Oh how wonderful!" Feral rejoiced, grinning, "Even in this dark, rank age, the Deputy Mayor is still her same, cheery, big-haired, ugly, robotic, disfigured, se . . .lf . . . Kats alive!!"  
  
Feral backed up, nearly knocking into the spirit, as the Deputy Mayor came fully into the light. Half her face was encased in metal, with small patches of fur and hair peeking through, and almost half her body was a metal skeleton. Instead of a pink outfit, she now wore a purple one, as she mechanically walked into the office, pad and pen in tow. A mechanic whir hummed with every movement she made, and Feral was most terrified at what he was seeing.  
  
"Spirit . . . what . . . who . . .how could this happen . . .It's like some sort of freakish Terminator movie!" Feral exclaimed, clasping at the spirit's robe.  
  
The spirit did not acknowledge him, merely only shrugging him off his robe and slowly making its way to a large black desk, with it's chair turned towards several video displays. Sitting down in it, the spirit was concealed from view by the large chair, as only its hands could be seen above it, removing the hood that swallowed up its facial features. Feral's eyes were glued to that chair, as the freakish form of the deputy mayor now stood in wait in front of the desk.  
  
"You wanted me to take a memo, Mayor?" Her half-robotic, half feline voice droned.  
  
"Yes, Ms. Briggs, I did," The figure in the chair stated.  
  
That voice sent chills up and down Feral's spine. It seemed familiar to him, and he knew he'd heard it before. But, was it really possible? Could the voice he was hearing really belong to the future mayor of Megakat City?  
  
"No . . .it-it can't be . . ." He tried to reassure himself, as he slowly edged nearer the desk, "There's just no way . . ."  
  
The chair behind the desk slowly swiveled around. Seated in it, was none other than the old she-kat from the auto club, who had always been calling in at Enforcer Headquarters to complain about the two lazy mechanics in the junkyard.  
  
NO! It . . . it isn't possible!!" Feral shrieked, "But how!? How could this have happened!?!"  
  
"Oh, good to see your reconstructive surgery is going well, dearie," The old she-kat purred, patting Callie's hand, "Really too bad you were caught in the explosion. I would've warned you, but I didn't want word of my little gift to city hall getting back to the Swat Kats, now did I?"  
  
"No, of course not, Mayor," Callie replied.  
  
"Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday," The old kat sighed, sitting back in her large, plush chair, "That Commander, Feral was it? Ah yes, what a nice, thoughtful sap he was. It was just too simple, really. I merely asked to see the mayor's office, so I could send a picture of it to my crippled young grandson living in the orphanage-"  
  
"Urgh!" Feral seethed, "Gets me every time!"  
  
"-And in no time at all he personally escorted me up here. Heh heh, but what he didn't know was that my camera was actually a bomb, and when they said cheese, it said sayonara and blew them sky high." The old she-kat cackled, folding her hands together in front of her gleaming eyes.  
  
"What?! But, how could you have survived!?" Feral barked, obviously forgetting he wasn't really present in the room.  
  
"I bet you're wondering how I managed to survive, eh, ya' young whippersnapper?" The old she-kat asked giddily.  
  
"Mmm, no, not really," Callie responded flatly, "Are we going to take that memo now or do I have to continue listening to your reminiscing?"  
  
"Well, the fact of the matter was, I didn't survive!" The old she-kat laughed, "I died, but luckily for me, I had a few clones ready to come in and take power. Sure, all the so-called 'super villains' would try to push me off, but every time they'd come, I'd just blow myself up, and then reinstate my mayor position by having another clone take charge! I'm number 12 you know."  
  
The old twisted she-kat continued to ramble on, but Feral could not bear to hear any more. He clutched his head, unable to stand steadily. He fell to his knees, and when he looked up again, found himself in a fog-encased graveyard. Though fearing what he might see, he nonetheless crawled towards the nearest tombstone, delicately swatting the snowflakes from its surface. He gasped, recoiling a bit.  
  
"Chivalry!" He read aloud, startled, "It really is dead!"  
  
But another gravestone caught his eye and he went to look at that one. Again wiping away the snow, the name fell on him like a ton of bricks.  
  
"H-Here," Feral began to read, his voice failing him, "Lies Ulysses Feral, the sweetest, nicest guy you'd ever know . . . Well, that wasn't too demeaning."  
  
Beside his portrait on the stone, he spotted an engraved sucker. Pounding his fists into the snow bitten earth, he let loose a wild howl, of anger. He was no longer terrified, no longer forgiving of those little arrogant fools, no longer would he be anyone's mat to walk over and wipe their feet on. Enraged, he lashed a clawed hand out at the nearest thing he could find, which ended up being his pillow, and slashed it to shreds. He was back in his room, and he was tearing it up in his newfound Christmas wrath.  
  
Minutes of spewing anger and frustrations later, Feral stood heaving and scowling in the middle of his wrecked bedroom. He looked at the window, as light was beginning to pour in. Quickly he dashed towards it and threw open the window, smashing two birds attempting to chirp a merry Christmas tune. Shotgun in hand, he pointed it at the nearest street urchin he could find and let loose a gruff bark.  
  
"You there, you dirty, filthy little street maggot!" He growled.  
  
The small kat turned, smiling upon seeing that good-natured Feral. "Well hiya, Ulysses!"  
  
"SHUT UP!!"  
  
Two shots were fired only inches above the street kat's head. The kat froze in terror, a look of utter horror distorting his face.  
  
"Tell me, worm, is it Christmas or what?" Feral shouted.  
  
"Y-yes, tis Christmas morning, sir!" The other kat quickly replied.  
  
"Good! Then it's not too late to screw up everyone's holiday plans!" Feral laughed, reaching into his pocket, "Here! Take this and go buy me fifty of the strongest, foulest, darkest espressos you can find! And I better get back exact change, you miserable twit, or I'll personally hunt you and your family down and lock you away to rot!"  
  
That done, Feral launched a bag of coins at the streetwise kat, nearly knocking the poor guy unconscious, as he quickly went to dress himself in his Enforcer attire. Once dressed, he hurried out the door and into the street, walking at a fast, brisk pace. As dozens upon dozens of orphans, elderly kats, and generally nice folk tried to pass him a friendly greeting or hug, he'd gruffly pass them by, push them off, or even fire a shot off into the air with that shotgun he was still packin'. Upon arriving at Felina's house, Feral met up with the huffing, puffing form of the urchin from earlier, carrying stacks upon stacks of steaming coffee.  
  
"Took you long enough," Ulysses growled, rapping the door with his cane.  
  
Mild grunts of disapproval and misery came from within. Brow furrowed, Feral kicked the door in, and let the bright light of Christmas morn fall upon the passed out partiers, most of which were Enforcers, and fired a few rounds into the ceiling.  
  
"Get up you lazy, good for nothing, scoundrels!" He ordered, startling them all most to death, "I'm revoking everyone's Christmas bonus, and if you're not in uniform and reporting for duty by nine o' clock you can kiss your job goodbye!"  
  
"Uncle . . .? Wh-What's the meaning of this?!" Felina demanded, pushing her way to the front, "It's Christmas!"  
  
Faint murmurs of agreement went around the room. Feral stood in the midst of this, glowering down at his niece. Her disobedience was disgusting to him now.  
  
"Lieutenant, while in uniform you will address me as Commander!" Feral growled, "Everyone up!"  
  
Felina's eyes grew misty, as a wavering smile slowly crept its way up along her face. "Oh, Commander!" She finally burst, hugging tight her uncle, "You are a miserable miser on the inside! I just knew it!"  
  
As groans echoed throughout the house, Feral charged Felina the duty of calling up every officer scheduled to work that day and bring them in. All, except one, which he would handle personally. After carefully counting the change given back and instructing the urchin to pass out the espressos, Feral took leave of his bewildered niece's residence and headed uptown to an old familiar apartment complex. A faint snarl escaped his lips as he passed through the lobby and punched in the floor number.  
  
"Okay, okay, I'm coming already, sheesh!" Steele yelled, putting on his robe, "It's not like it's *Christmas* or anything, pal!"  
  
His door had been rapping for five minutes straight. His friend, lying on the couch, was yelling at him to answer it, while simultaneously telling the unfriendly knocker to hold his horses. Unlatching the door, Steele finally flung it open, a less than humorous look on his face. His demeanor dissolved into that of fake cheeriness once he saw who it was, looming and scowling at him from the doorway.  
  
"Why-hy, Commander Feral!" He grinned, "What a, ah, pleasant surprise!"  
  
Feral pushed his way past Steele coldly, entering the lush apartment, as the Lieutenant Commander gave an annoyed look behind his back to his friend.  
  
"Do come in."  
  
But just as suddenly, Feral's stance loosened, and a quaint smile was etched across his face. He stood over Steele's friend, acting just as nice and peachy as could be, wishing both of them a merry Christmas.  
  
"So, what are you doing here again?" Steele asked, a puzzled smile plastered on his face.  
  
"Oh, you know, just delivering some Christmas cheer to my favorite Lt. Commander and his poor, poor brother," Feral explained cheerily, patting the friend's head, "And how are you my lad? Leg still giving you trouble?"  
  
The friend chuckled uneasily, as he had both legs propped up the table in front of the sofa.  
  
"Ah yes, afraid so," The brother said, "But like I've always said, God bless us, every one! Eh heh."  
  
"Yes, how very cute," Feral replied dryly, "Tell me, since you can't use that leg at all, you probably can't feel a thing in it, am I right?"  
  
"Well, er, uh," the friend stammered.  
  
"Yes, yes, had an old colleague myself with a disease such as this!" Feral continued on, "Before they amputated it, you could very well drive a semi over it and not one squeak of pain would he utter!"  
  
The other two kats just sort of looked at each other, unsure what to say. It was Feral's cane that broke the silence, as it suddenly came crashing down onto the friend's leg. He jolted, his eyes nearly popping out, as his teeth gnashed together from the sharp pain shooting up and down his leg. Feral smiled, slapping the friend on the back for good measure.  
  
"Ha! Good one! Trying to fool me into thinking that really hurt! I see humor runs in your family, Steele my boy!" Feral laughed, pacing back over towards the horrified Lt. Commander.  
  
"Commander! You-"  
  
"I, what, Steele?" Feral snarled, getting into his face.  
  
"You . . . must be . . .famished! Can I get you something to eat? A leg of lam-er, perhaps a shank of ham-urk, how about a drink with some crushed ic- ay!" Steele flustered about, rattled beyond description.  
  
"Steele!" Feral roared, silencing the kat's sporadic ramblings, "Put on your uniform and report for duty today, and I'll let you have your two weeks of vacation. But you better enjoy it, because it'll be the last vacation time you ever see over the next five years. Is that understood?"  
  
Steele nodded dumbly, still in disbelief at what had come over the commander. Tripping over various objects in his dash to get to his bedroom, Steele returned seconds later, fully uniformed and standing rigid under Commander Feral's scrutiny.  
  
"Well you incompetent, incorrigible, unfathomable, greasy, delinquent of a sleazebag, get your tail downstairs and into the car waiting for us!" Feral barked, nearly bursting Steele's eardrum.  
  
Steele shakily saluted, zipping out of that room just as quick as possible, stifling a few sobs Feral was more than happy to hear. Before dutifully slamming Steele's door shut, Feral looked towards the still pain-ridden friend on the couch trying to regulate his breathing. He grinned sardonically.  
  
"Merry Christmas, ya' filthy animal."  
  
--------------------------The End 


End file.
